Publisher's Synopsis
THE course of this narrative describes the return of a disembodied spirit to earth, and leads thereader on new and strange ground.Not in the obscurity of midnight, but in the searching light of day, did the supernatural influenceassert itself. Neither revealed by a vision, nor announced by a voice, it reached mortal knowledgethrough the sense which is least easily self-deceived: the sense that feels.The record of this event will of necessity produce conflicting impressions. It will raise, in someminds, the doubt which reason asserts; it will invigorate, in other minds, the hope which faithjustifies; and it will leave the terrible question of the destinies of man, where centuries of vaininvestigation have left it-in the dark.Having only undertaken in the present narrative to lead the way along a succession of events, thewriter declines to follow modern examples by thrusting himself and his opinions on the public view.He returns to the shadow from which he has emerged, and leaves the opposing forces of incredulityand belief to fight the old battle over again, on the old ground.II.THE events happened soon after the first thirty years of the present century had come to an end.On a fine morning, early in the month of April, a gentleman of middle age (named Rayburn) tookhis little daughter Lucy out for a walk in the woodland pleasure-ground of Western London, calledKensington Gardens.The few friends whom he possessed reported of Mr. Rayburn (not unkindly) that he was areserved and solitary man. He might have been more accurately described as a widower devoted tohis only surviving child. Although he was not more than forty years of age, the one pleasure whichmade life enjoyable to Lucy's father was offered by Lucy herself.Playing with her ball, the child ran on to the southern limit of the Gardens, at that part of it whichstill remains nearest to the old Palace of Kensington. Observing close at hand one of those spaciouscovered seats, called in England "alcoves," Mr. Rayburn was reminded that he had the morning'snewspaper in his pocket, and that he might do well to rest and read. At that early hour the place wasa solitude."Go on playing, my dear," he said; "but take care to keep where I can see you."Lucy tossed up her ball; and Lucy's father opened his newspaper. He had not been reading formore than ten minutes, when he felt a familiar little hand laid on his knee."Tired of playing?" he inquired-with his eyes still on the newspaper."I'm frightened, papa."He looked up directly. The child's pale face startled him. He took her on his knee and kissed her."You oughtn't to be frightened, Lucy, when I am with you," he said, gently. "What is it?" Helooked out of the alcove as he spoke, and saw a little dog among the trees. "Is it the dog?" he asked.
